


Infinity Inc: Sort and Ship

by Jarissa



Series: Rules of Survival [3]
Category: City of Heroes, City of Villains
Genre: Gen, Not a Happy Story, OCs everywhere, Villains, grim, villain minions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:52:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8137940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarissa/pseuds/Jarissa
Summary: When you're a brilliant mastermind, sometimes your own creations cannot keep up with your genius. Ones that show promise - but need to improve - can be sent to the Rogue Isles for further training. Ones that just do not seem to be getting it, though, might as well get recycled for parts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ((Trigger warnings for direct reference to brainwashing, indirect reference to forcible involuntary body modification, and the general villainous behavior of treating people as property.))
> 
> All characters in this piece are either the author's creations, or the creations of people the author knows in person and from whom the author gained permission for the character's use in this work. 
> 
> The Rogue Isles, Etoile Islands, or Grandville are all the creations of the City of Villains developers, and are used without permission. I reference with respect and claim no ownership.

The dark-skinned man in his silver-trimmed leather coat held a textbook Elizabethan bow at its lowest point, hat in hand and left leg extended behind him. Arranged in a perfectly silent protective ring around him, five Norwegian Wolf Hybrids knelt. The largest, Bolwerc, hunched directly facing the CEO, barely obscuring the view despite his bulk. Every other member of the pack faced outward from their place in the circle, ready to turn if any threat developed from his or her angle. They watched the CEO's hands out of the corners of their eyes.

None would move until given leave, or endangered.

An elderly, fit man in white -- white, neatly trimmed mustache, beard, eyebrows, and hair; dazzlingly white suit slacks and coat; white tie on a palest blue dress shirt; black walking cane with silver pommel and tip -- contemplated this artistic tableau for several minutes. 

"Series ninety-two," Simon Arkangel said at last. "You are an art form so unique that my Physical Design division has not created another surviving series in the same genre. You are the only successful design; you are as close to flawless in metahuman healing powers as we have ever seen in the laboratory." 

The six Hybrids kept their poses under their owner's praise. 

"That does not make you truly flawless." Arkangel tapped the silver tip of his cane on the ground for emphasis. "Grigaere, you perform a pleasing sonata da chiesa but there are times when true Art may better be in the form of a toccata or concerto. Strive to become a greater personification of your Art." 

The center Hybrid's head sank lower. "I exist to please you, Benefactor."

"Yes," Arkangel agreed. "Series ninety-two, you will enter transport pods in Bay Three. You will awake in our newly renovated facility in the Etoile Islands, where your peers will provide many subjects on which you may practice your Art. Serve me well." His fingers twitched a lazy version of the _go!_ command as Arkangel turned away. 

Before Arkangel had traveled three steps down the row, Grigaere plus all five wolf Hybrids had risen to their feet and raced down to the indicated hangar bay.

Two employees in white lab coats waited in front of the next group of Hybrids, who were not in any kind of artistic array at all. Both coats had blood-red lemniscates embroidered on their breast pockets; around one, the ring was black, and this woman held a clipboard which she offered to Arkangel. The other technician's embroidered ring was a bright yellow-green. 

Arkangel skimmed four pages of information on the clipboard. He looked up several times at the Hybrids in this batch. The cheetah Alpha drew his attention for less than a heartbeat, but he spent two minutes frowning at a purple-skinned Delta metahuman. "Sumi Nagashi," he said. 

The purple woman blurted quickly, "I exist to serve!" 

Arkangel sighed. "You are a water-and-ink painting, Sumi. You are transcendence." 

"Well, yes. Of course." Sumi obviously had no idea where he was trying to lead. 

Arkangel looked at the employee who had given him the clipboard. That latter shrugged. "No change, sir. The flaw is inherent."

"Unfortunate." Arkangel tucked the crook of his cane over his elbow so that he could mark a box on one sheet. He handed the clipboard to the other technician. "Did you bring a large enough transport pod to ship the bear this time? Yes? Good. Send me an update from Bloodwyrm at the end of this testing round." To the waiting Hybrids, Arkangel said, "Go to Bay Two." 

The Delta started to weep, which was annoying. Apparently she had guessed what Project Bloodwyrm had in store for them - though his Hybrids could not disobey his direct commands even enough to protest their sentences.

Most of his Hybrids could not. 

Arkangel continued on his inspection of the properties up for transfer, but he could not give this task his full attention. He admired and critiqued Zukuri, who looked more like those silly "Kitchen Witch" dolls his mother's patients used to hang near the stove than she did a potentially dangerous metahuman with the ability to warp plantlife to her whim. _Just give her a pointed hat and a broom_ , he thought irritably in Physical Design's general direction. "You and these Alpha Hybrids near you will enter transport pods in Bay Four," Arkangel instructed at last. "You will awake at our facility in Eastern Europe, where you will serve a long-term contract for certain valuable clients. If the client at any time takes an action which is directly counter to Corporate interests, you will pretend not to notice, and _report_ in detail when you are certain that only Corporate employees and your peers can observe. If they violate the lease, of course, you will kill them and _return_ instantly. Serve me well." They, too, scrambled for their assigned berths when he made the _go!_ command gesture. 

Arkangel looked around for the nearest Security officer. "Tell Bays Two and Three to hold," he said. "They will have two more transport pods than scheduled. I have not yet decided if it is one for each, or both to the same destination." He waved off the cluster of technicians waiting for his signature so that he could walk briskly into the main body of the base. 

When he reached the Alpha cage room, Arkangel hesitated a moment in the dark hallway. Most Hybrids were on tasks or performing drills at this hour, if they were not part of the monthly transfer list, but his oldest remaining prototype hunched near one side. She had a rice bowl that she was picking through. _Are my Hybrids not fed in specific commissaries at this facility?_ Granted, she might be eating in the cage because Behavioral Design got tired of mealtime disruptions. Fehral did not tend to _start_ disruptions so much as they started themselves in her vicinity. 

Arkangel pressed the spot on his cane that activated the base's spotlight system. Instantly the rooms' lights centered on him, sparkling off the microscopic threads in his white linen suit. He took a single step forward. "Fehral. _Here_." With one finger he pointed at the space directly in front of him. 

The leopard Hybrid dropped her bowl and spoon as she whirled around to look at him. Wide-eyed, she scurried to the cage door, opened it, then crept on all four paws to the place indicated. There she put her weight back on her haunches so she could look up at him. 

Arkangel pinched her jaw in one gloved hand, holding her muzzle still so that he could stare into her eyes. Fehral's entire body shook in terror. Yet in the depths of her white-ringed panicky eyes, Arkangel could still see a craving for violence. 

"I am nearly at the end of the possibilities with you," Arkangel said. "I am tempted to abandon that last hope."

Fehral did nothing but quiver. 

In Swedish, Simon said quietly but clearly, "I continue the life work of Agneta Tove Gottschalk, who died too young of others' ignorance."

Fehral stopped quivering. Her eyes lost all focus. In a singsong chant, she said, " _El_ der _bro_ ther, _what_ a _clev_ er _no_ tion! I applaud. I do! But _that_ , dear _boy_ , is _not_ the _key_." 

Simon Arkangel growled his frustration. He must have tightened his fingers, because Fehral yelped in pain; it was enough to wake her out of the trance. Arkangel let go of her. He waited impatiently while she shook her head, then looked around the room, no doubt trying to figure out what she had missed.

"Fehral," Arkangel said curtly. " _Follow_." 

Other employees had difficulty with consistent obedience on that command. When Arkangel gave it, the Hybrid snapped right into place as if leash-trained and they only deviated if they perceived a threat to him. He had no need to look down at black hair and Sri Lankan leopard fur. He walked through several halls before he reached the exercise room for Delta Hybrids on unassigned time. 

Four Deltas halted when they heard Arkangel's cane touch the floor-wide mat. They all came forward to kneel or bow as their artistic genre indicated. 

Arkangel patted the air with a cupped hand in the black-clad swordsman Delta's direction. To the others, he said, "Resume your training." 

In moments, they were all busy again -- at the far end of the room, Arkangel noted. He was not sure if they were trying to put metaphorical distance between themselves and possible correction, or if they simply wished to provide the illusion of privacy. 

"Identify yourself," Arkangel said. 

The black-clad Delta remained on one knee. "I am the Killing Dance," he said in a cool, faintly raspy voice. "I am Hybrid Delta 104A, prized living embodiment of Art in the collection of Simon Arkangel. I serve my Benefactor as Executioner at his command. I am a creation of Infinity, Incorporated. My services can be leased through them ... by those who can _afford_ the price of true art!"

That last bit was not part of the introduction script this Hybrid had been taught. Arkangel was amused by that note of pride. "Good," he said. "You serve me well." He turned to his left, looking at Fehral. She, crouched a foot behind Arkangel's left heel, stared dubiously at the man whose upright kneeling posture still towered over her low crouch. 

"Fehral," Arkangel prompted.

"Vvvrrrr?" Fehral blinked up at the white-haired man in his dazzling white clothes. 

"Identify yourself," Arkangel repeated, exasperated. He gestured toward the Delta Hybrid. 

"Oh." Fehral returned her attention to the man in black. "Fehral." Her tail snaked back and forth in winding curves. "Fehral-leopard," she expanded, "Alpha 4B. No art. Jussss leopard. Scout okay. Like do ' _hunt_ '," and she lifted one forepaw to accompany that last word with its command gesture. "See you esss'cute Mordant Etch! Art?"

"Yes," Arkangel said, "that execution was art." 

Fehral looked at Arkangel attentively while he spoke, but her attention quickly swayed. Arkangel could see in her body language that she wondered if she was about to be the next execution. He would normally indulge a few moments of letting the Hybrid wonder. Alas, she had the vexatious habit of _asking_ directly. 

"You have both been operating solo," he said instead. Arkangel found it more difficult to remain firm in his plan when he looked upon the black eyes of his favorite Delta, looking faithfully up at him. "No more. I wish to create a unit from the pair of you. Fehral, you will _obey_ the Killing Dance." 

That was enough to make the Killing Dance blink, and stare down at the raggedly unkempt leopard. 

The chance of her actually obeying any other Hybrid was nearly nil, Arkangel well knew; this was his last idea to salvage his late brother's missing files. They would form a unit bond as he instructed, or Arkangel would find out how well his pet serial killer performed when the opponent had never been implanted with proper restrictions. 

The Killing Dance looked back up at his creator's face. "May I speak, Benefactor?" 

Arkangel raised one white eyebrow. 

"In your infinite wisdom, Benefactor, the Killing Dance was designed to be a solo art that would potentially, every so often, work with an Alpha. As an experiment."

"Hhhhah!" Fehral fired off the _jerk_ gesture from where she partially hid behind Arkangel's leg. "You the stupid Hybrid beat me for p'tect Emp'lee. You no beat me _now_ , shiny man."

The Killing Dance took in a quick, angry breath. Then he held it, because Arkangel thumped his cane's tip down directly between them. Fehral fell over backwards in full-fledged panic. "I have chosen _this_ experiment," Arkangel said sternly. "You will serve me as I direct. I will tell you when I am satisfied."

"As you wish, Benefactor." The swordsman returned to his icy calm posture. Fehral managed to get her paws under her again; she huddled as small as she could, her belly touching the floor. She peered out between strands of her hair.

Arkangel took one last look at each of them. He gave final instructions as he turned away. "You two will enter transport pods in Bay Three. You will awake in the Etoile Islands. A replacement sword will await you there, Killing Dance." 

The Hybrids were too busy glaring at one another to move right away. 


End file.
